


The Histories of the True King

by lammermoorian



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Boy King of Hell Sam Winchester, Epic Poetry, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lammermoorian/pseuds/lammermoorian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harken ye now to hear the account of siege of Gehenna, and the deposition of that usurper Lilith by the armies of our golden-eyed king.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part the First

Hear me and listen well, for I have a gift to share – a  
story, the story of stories, the tale of tales, the legend of  
legends. I speak now of our king, the son of Dawn, who  
with his armies mighty marched on the citadel of  
Gehenna, to lay siege to the stronghold of Lilith, the lady  
of the house of White, the highest priestess of the  
Morningstar, who falsely set herself as ruler of  
under Earth, though that office was given to another, and  
having incurred the wrath of our true king, she was met with a  
swift and savage justice. All this was done in days long  
past, but the story rings yet true, and may we all take  
wisdom from these words, to meditate on such love and  
honor and the tests of family. So here am  
I before you all so humbly, to relate to  
you this story, His story. 

Now in that time, our king and his followers all had set out  
to take back the seat of the rightful lord from that damnable  
Lady, who had lorded o’er us a thousand years and  
more, when she had been given the crown from Azazel, that tyrant.  
Knowing that her place was borrowed, the prince of Gehenna  
did become hateful to her, though she did not yet know him,  
so she swore a deathly vow, with queensblood sealed, that our  
king would ne'er reach her gates, nor come to claim his throne, lest she  
willed it. And so, having gathered her army, she set them to the  
guard of her castle, and of the greater prize, the brother  
of our king himself, whom one of her agents had taken  
upon the completion of a fatal deal – his life for the  
life and safety of his brother, our king, whose body and  
soul he knew were so much more precious and pure than his own.  
There he languished, at the mercy of the queen who  
had none, and sure in her step and way, she prayed to the god of  
light to send her a great and mighty strength so as to  
face her foe, but alas! The Morningstar had only  
eyes for his golden champion now, for she had fallen  
out of favor with the sky, so entrenched and enshrined was she  
in the pits of darkness and of hatred. Woe to you,  
chthonic queen, for our king is coming for thy head, and  
none can protect you from his wrath. 

Now beneath the earth, ‘twixt granite and brimstone, our  
king and all his men had set their camp, for they had  
marched for weeks, descending from that land of sky,  
green grass slowly turning to red, then brown, then black, as the  
world above faded into mist and shadow, the child of  
Dawn pushing ever onward, swiftly and mercilessly,  
unflinching in his pursuit, and the demons had gladly  
followed, bloodthirsty and bone-hungry, though they had  
stopped to rest a while. Yet though our king took his rest, his  
followers were restless. "Fie!" cried one, who sat  
‘round the camp with his brothers, "fie upon this march!  
Months have we traveled from overland, with aching feet and  
weak’ning arm! We are too long, friends, too long to strike and  
long to fight! We shall never reach the castle White, not till  
Judgment Day itself has long since passed, and we are no  
more than bone and memory." Having heard such a brash  
declaration, his brother-in-arms did laugh, saying "What, are  
you so bold to fly to the castle yourself, to slay the  
Lady yourself?" - "In the name of our king!" - "In your own name, you fool.  
Let our king to his own, as ours was made to follow, and  
be assured that there shall be such carnage as to  
slake your thirst." But he would not be deterred, too blood-hot and  
hungry to wait, and he spoke to his brothers at large, crying  
out, "Is there any one of us who would not risk their  
life and limb for such a glory as to kill a  
queen? To fight and die for the honor of our king, and  
topple her mighty tower, trample her forces under our  
feet and into the dust where they belong? Our victory  
rightly is assured, and I know well that many  
of our fellow soldiers feel as I - that we languish  
here too long, and are possessed of the same hunger.  
Blood is calling, friend, the siren song of war, and  
I am powerless to resist!" 

At these words, his friend, so full of scorn, did turn from  
him and mocking say, "The only siren song you  
hear is your own vile greed, and you would do well  
to forget it, for we are no longer merely murderous  
monsters, friend, but have a purpose noble and high, and  
thus have new laws to which we must adhere, or had you  
forgotten now that our king forbade our wanton, violent  
ways, and charged as all to keep our lust in check? I  
see now that you cannot rise to this challenge, friend, as in  
all things that require anything of you but  
mindless rage and equally mindless fucking." Just as it  
seemed as though the war they desired so desperately would  
come to pass in their very camp, a voice cried out and  
stopped them as they went for each other, and said, "Hold,  
brothers, hold arms!" Through the throng of demons strode a  
woman, with eyes and hair of pitch, and the soldiers let her  
pass, for the woman was no other than Masag, the  
daughter of the house of Black who had followed our king when  
he did wander the earth with his brother, and though she had at  
first against him railed, disgusted by the vile  
thoughts of a human on the throne of fire, our king had  
swayed her with impassioned pleas and awesome might, and she  
swore herself to his cause, for he had freed her from her  
servitude to the tyrant Azazel. "Fie!" cried she, "ye  
utter fools! And you call yourselves my brothers of the  
house of Black, yet squabble amongst yourselves as though you were  
nothing more than animals that fight for rotten  
scraps from the master's table! Have you forgotten that our  
king has brought us together, that no longer may we  
fight our mothers and fathers, siblings and children for some  
small bit of favor from the queen of lies and her circle  
of conspirators, but are bound against a common  
enemy? I cast upon you shame, and call you  
unfit to fight under our golden king's most noble  
banner!"

At her words, the soldiers felt their anger fall  
away as sand over stone, and they were ashamed of their foolishness,  
and extended a hand to each other with renewed  
brotherhood. "Should all wars be won so easily," laughed  
she, and her brothers-in-arms did praise her speech, saying, "O, great  
word-maker! You honor us all with the art of your mouth,  
unworthy worms we are!" Replied she, "You flatter me  
thus; I claim no power over words, but allow them  
power over me, and so they live within me  
and without, to live and die and live again  
within you all." A crowd had gathered to see a fight, but  
now they clamored for her words, for Masag was an  
accomplished storyteller, the world of overland having  
given her a wealth of stories to tell, of kings and  
monsters, mothers and lovers, heroes and their tragic  
downfalls; if it could be told, Masag would tell it. "Word-maker!"  
cried they, "Poet! Songstress! Tell us a story, we beg you, for our  
march has been long, and our hearts are heavy, and we are sore in  
need of entertainment!" 

She stood before this eager congregation, of worn and  
weary men, and said to them, "A story, you ask? What, so  
starved are you for distraction that you come to me, this  
lowly fabler, for your story? Such a precious  
thing, you should not simply trust just anybody with it, for  
in this waste our stories are all we have. Nay,  
find another word-maker than I." But the crowd would  
not be swayed, crying, "You, o spring, are the greatest  
teller of them all! No, none can compare to your voice and  
song - only you have the skill to carry the story  
of our king to its place in the citadel of Gehenna!  
Do not deny us our history and pride!" So impassioned  
was the crowd, that Masag did smile and say, "My brothers,  
sisters, all, I live for your courtesy, and since you  
say I am the best, then I must be, for surely so  
many can not be mistaken. So I shall give you a  
story, a tale of family and vengeance, of tragedy and  
grief, and a love so strong to sustain the world, to anchor  
it, to save it. This, this is the story of our  
king, his family and tragedy and his most  
powerful love." And she did speak, and all her brethren  
gathered about her silently. "O, hear me, friends, and  
listen well, for I do have your story. I speak now  
of a time many years ago, and a day that was marked by  
death, and stricken with sorrow.

"Now in that time, in a land of infinite meadows ringed  
about by a lapis-sky, there was a young man born of  
great minds of science and scholarly pursuits, by books of  
magic and monsters fed and watered, and there also  
was a young woman, who held swords and spears and bows in her  
little hands before she could walk, who took her stock from the  
mightiest of warriors, those great and awesome  
men and women who sought out the spawns of darkness and  
fear, so that they might be purged, and though these two were but mere  
mortals, they loved with love grander and greater than most, for  
they had been chosen by the heavens for noble deeds, to bring  
forth such heroes as to bring the realms of gods and  
men to their knees, their towers and their armies all  
crumbled into dust. But all of this had yet to pass, and the  
two were content with each other, humble and happy. Alas!  
Their joy was not meant to last, for on their wedding day, the  
man was slain by her jealous father, who, having been  
possessed of a certain rage, did drag the man into the  
field, where he beat him bloody and broken, until, having  
seen what he had done, he fled, fearing his daughter's  
sorrow and her anger. When later she found her husband's  
body, she was overcome with an infinite sadness,  
beating her breast and tearing her hair. Bewailing her lost  
love, she went to wander the land in grief, and wept so  
bitterly that all who heard her were moved to tears  
and wept with her, wailing woman of the golden hair.

Several days and nights she wandered from the fields where  
he had died and she had lived, until the fields  
became the forest, and the forest became the mountains,  
and the mountains became the river - mad with grief, and  
knowing not where her feet would turn, in sorrow and anger she  
prayed to the absent gods for relief, for death, for justice and  
for her lover, but her prayers went unanswered, and  
so she wept anew, cursing the lords of the air and the  
earth for their wretched, damning silence. After a while,  
weak and weary from heartbreak and hunger, she came upon a  
hermit who lived in the quiet valley, sitting before his  
humble fire, tending to his daily meal,  
and she called to him, 'Uncle, I do implore you,  
I am weak from wand'ring these last long days, and I am  
sore in need of food. May I break my fast with  
you?' And the old man welcomed her with open arms,  
offering her his seat and his spoon. As she ate, he  
asked her, 'Child, what has become of you? I see that your  
clothes are ripped, your eyes are red, your feet are torn and  
bloody. Who has done such evil to you, oh fair one?' At  
this, the woman wept anew, crying 'Oh! Woe,  
unhappy I! Pity me, uncle, the most  
unfortunate bride! I loved a man who could not offer  
me the moon, but promised instead his food and warmth, which  
I did gladly accept. But woe! On the day of our  
wedding, I found his body in the field, bereft of  
life and the warmth that I had cherished! Oh, miserable  
me, to carry on alone!' 

"Having heard this saddest of tales, the old man's eyes did  
fill with tears, and in a trembling voice, did say, 'May  
he be cursed by all the gods of air and sea, that  
one who ripped your joy from you so cruelly!' But sighed  
she, 'No, uncle, no, for the one who did it was none  
other than my jealous father! I shall never  
forgive him, yet I wish him no ill will, for I love him  
as a daughter should. Alas, the man who did give me  
life has now taken it away, and here I remain,  
alone and unloved!' Again wept she so piteously, that  
all hearts must have broken at the sound of her cries, her  
shuddering breaths. At this display, the old man placed his  
hand upon her shoulder, and with a voice like the wind in the  
trees, he softly spoke, 'My child, there may yet be a  
way to change your fate, and return your love to you. Not  
merely a hermit am I, but also a man of certain  
works, and I may be able to help you now.' 

"'Help me, uncle?' asked she, in disbelief, for she had  
heard of men such as these, these self-proclaimed magicians who  
did indeed work miracles, but always at a  
price too costly to reason. 'What,' said she, recoiling  
at his touch so cold, 'would I become your slave, a  
shadow of myself, without my soul and heart? I  
know your games, sorcerer,' and here she spat, 'and I  
know that gifts such as these are never given freely.  
No, you shall not have me.' But the old man did  
deny this claim so viciously, saying, 'Take me for some  
conjurer of magic so cheap? Oh, no, I shun  
diviners and warlocks, and keep to the teachings of holy men in  
earnest solemnity. Myself, a sorcerer - you  
wound me so to think it, that I would sell myself to  
you so falsely. I shall never lie, my dear; there  
is indeed a price to be paid, yet the value shall not  
balance it, for what could equal a life of love, or a  
love for life, I ask you now? My daughter, no, I  
shall not ask for one life in place of another, nor your  
service, neither your soul.’ 

"As he spoke, the skies did seem to turn from day to  
night, and the wind did howl in fear, and he seemed to her no  
longer a man, but a monstrous being, cruelty where there  
was compassion, glinting eyes of wilted gold that  
once were soft and dark, upon her gazing with a  
sick and hungry stare, and the woman was sore afraid.  
‘If I am to return your lover to you, my only  
demand is this; that in ten years I shall return to  
claim my prize.' But the woman was not so easily fooled, and  
though she trembled, demanded of him, 'And what of my house, my  
husband, our children? Shall you come for them as well?  
Mark me, sorcerer, and you try for their lives, I shall bring down the  
fury of a thousand devils upon your head, and  
tear your heart from your chest with mine own hands!' O brave lady,  
gods shall weep for you, and the works done in your name shall be  
spoken of with fear through realms of angels and men,  
mother of kings! The fury of love is one to admire, that  
inspires such strength of heart, such passion of the soul -  
miraculous power, may it come upon us and be a  
lantern for our feet, so that it may light our path.

"Stalwart woman she was, yet her lonely heart did keenly  
feel the loss of love, and thus did she agree to the  
sorcerer’s terms, for the sake of the man who carried her heart  
within him, whether he lived or died. ‘Now, daughter, go,’ said  
he, ‘to your lovely home and your unpolluted hearth, and  
there the man shall be, awaiting your return - but in  
ten years time I shall come to you again, for neither  
riches nor rape, nor blood nor bone. I shall not harm your  
house, save if i am interrupted in my meagre  
task, and there our covenant shall end.’ As he spoke, there  
was a mighty crash of thunder, and the woman was  
struck by a bolt of fear, yet her feet were rooted to the  
earth, and she could not move. The sorcerer grew then, seeming  
to become as tall as an oak, and the lines of his human  
form did blur until it seemed as if he did  
possess some features most monstrous - teeth grotesque and rotten, a  
skeleton’s nose, his body decayed and festering with  
maggots, cloven hooves where once were human feet, and  
wings of leathery hide that shuddered in and out of  
vision - and the creature that had been the sorcerer beared an awful  
smile, releasing a mighty roar that shook her to the  
bone and soul, and her feet took flight. In such panic she  
ran as though she were the hart upon the mountains, with  
terror pursuing her, chasing after her heels as if it  
were a pack of wild dogs, and the knotted length of  
hopeful rope before her, tied about her heart did  
pull her forward, through the winding maze of rock and  
tree and ash. For several nights and days she ran, with  
only a dream she dared to dream to guide her, until the  
valley became the river, and the river became the  
mountains, and the mountains became the forest, and the  
forest became the fields where she had lived and where he had  
died - and lo! as she came upon that happy house,  
indeed there was the man alive, her dearest husband, and  
there, the fear went out of her as water in a  
net, and she fell upon him, weeping for joy. 

"Happiest of women, she spent her days with love and  
thanksgiving, and gave no sparing thought to her deathly  
covenant with the sorcerer, the tyrant Azazel  
disguised, for that was the man whom she had met in the valley,  
he who was the architect of death. Yet the years passed  
quickly, the demon’s face and promise fading from her  
memory, like mist in the morning sun from the trees, and  
in due time she gave birth to a son, her first, and  
named him after the valley and the fields of green, a  
son with eyes the color of the grass where he had  
lived, and all of nature seemed to follow him with  
gladness and good tidings, and even as a child, the  
birds and the beasts of the forests did proclaim him a great and  
mighty warrior, whose name would strike fear and awe into the  
hearts of all who heard it. But the ever-turning  
wheel of destiny would not be stopped, and the woman  
had a second child, a second son, whose coming had  
been foretold by sun, moon and stars, the glow of dawn  
casting golden light upon his face. This,  
this was our king, and she gave him the name of prophet and judge, yet the  
holiest of offices had yet to come  
upon him, this little lord of the world below, who shall be  
heralded as king and savior, who shall bring an  
end to the tyrannical reign of the false gods who had  
held us in their iron grip. Yet all this had yet to  
come to pass, and woman, man, and sons did live in  
happiness and love, without tedium and envy. 

"But O! Woe! For Joy, as swiftly as she had come,  
departed just as swiftly, and left grey-eyed Sorrow in her  
stead, for it came to pass that the second child was not yet  
six months old when Tragedy reared his hideous head, and  
cast his baleful yellow gaze upon the happy  
house. Ten long years had passed since that fatal day, and  
though the woman had forgotten her covenant,  
Azazel had not, for he fed on the promises he had made, the  
vows he had taken from others, and he would share his sorrowful  
food. But on this day, he had a grander plan, and the  
sinister workings of his blackened heart did drive him  
to the house of our young king to carry out his  
Master's will. On an autumn’s night so cold, whilst father and  
first son were gathering rarest herbs, he came upon the  
darkened house in secret, dressed again as the hermit in  
cloth of black, among the shadows slipping into the  
house where mother and second son slept, and as he approached the  
cradle of our king, he drew his hidden blade, and  
brought it to his flesh, an easy slice upon his  
wrist, and the foul flesh did part to let the fouler  
blood come forth. Wicked man, he held his bleeding  
fingers over our king as he slept, and let the blood fall  
into his open mouth, the poorest of wines, and he spoke, saying  
‘Give you I my blood and power, o son of suns, these  
gifts for the mortal boy king, and in the years to follow  
may it come to serve you well, this sword and shield of  
mine. Take of them, prince, and reforge them in thy image and  
will, and prepare thyself for the coming of the dawn.' 

"As he spoke, the mother with ears as sharp as foxes  
awoke, and, seeing that a strange man did loom above her  
child, she made to cry out for her husband when the  
sickly, yellow eyes of the demon fixed her with a  
deadly stare, and all at once, the memories of that fatal  
night returned to her in an instant, and she knew her  
doom that night. 'Away, you demon,' cried she, 'away  
before I strike your head from your shoulders!' Such brave words from this  
mother of heroes who faced the darkness and stood so tall! Yet  
Azazel turned and thrust his hand at her, and as if he had  
pushed her, she was forced against the walls of the house, and  
rose from the floor as though carried by unseen arms, and Azazel,  
regarding her with a sick and hungry stare, did speak,  
saying, ‘I warned you, daughter, did I not, of what would  
befall you should you try to intervene? I would have  
simply let you go, but now I fear I must do  
something truly tragic. Farewell, o daughter of war, and  
may you find the passage to Heaven easy and fair. Your  
sons shall bring honor to your name, and all the world will  
know the strength of love.’ Having said this, Azazel turned  
away and spoke again to the child with great affection,  
‘Run, boy, run, and you will find me again, in the place where  
I am waiting, the star in the iron ring.’

"His most terrible deed complete, he looked to the hearth, and  
from its depths a mighty flame leapt to the wall and  
spread, its hungry blaze devouring the once glad house and the  
once gladder woman, and Azazel looked upon his  
works with gladness and satisfaction, then disappeared in a  
shadow of smoke. Alas, for it was only then that the  
husband and son appeared, having seen the fire in the  
night, and though they tried with all their strength, the fire would  
not be extinguished for all the water in the world. The  
once glad father plucked his sleeping son from his cradle, and  
gave the child to his brother, and bade him take the  
boy and run, run so fast and far as to deliver him to  
safety, and the young warrior took his swaddled  
brother, the most precious cargo, and fled to his uncle's  
house, and there they waited out that fatal night, not  
knowing whether they would have a home come morning  
light, our young king’s cries so soothed by his brother, who rocked him to  
sleep and sang him their mother’s songs in the darkness of the  
moonless valley. When grey morning came in tears and  
grief, the father found his children close together, our  
king asleep in his brother’s lap, and with great reluctance, he  
woke his sleeping children, and told them of the passing  
of their gentle mother, and the waste of their home, whose  
walls had held such precious memories, of love and  
warmth, of safety and security, no longer  
to return. The father and sons revisited the  
ruined site of their home, now nothing but smoke and ash, and  
as they looked upon the quiet stone, the father  
swore a solemn oath in the stillness of the morning,  
that whoever had done this would surely pay for robbing this  
family of its light, its anchor. There in the grey and  
pale dawn, the father took up his wife’s own sword, the  
silver blade known as the Dancing Fire, and there  
began he his mighty quest, the hunt that would so wholly  
consume him as a wild beast consumes its prey, without  
patience or mercy.

"Year on lingering year did they travel, across the vastness  
of that Earth, pursuing the shadow that chased them, the haunting  
memory of that night, but it would be more than twenty  
years before their trial was ended. The children were bred  
upon the road, with dust for their beds and a roof of wondrous  
stars, and thus they grew as soldiers, world-weary and  
battle-hardened, as their own dear mother had been, yet  
tempered by their father's science, and so they were the  
perfect warriors, the arts of war and peace so  
delicately balanced within them upon the fulcrum  
of their glorious quest. Yet though he followed in the  
footsteps of father and brother, deep within the heart of  
our young king grew a great and terrible rage, by grief and  
bitterness nurtured, a rage that slowly crept through his skin and  
bone, by poisoned blood watered and fed, though such agony  
of the body could not be matched by the torments of the  
mind. From ghastly nightmares did the young lord suffer,  
dreams of death and ruin, and whatever he saw would  
come to pass in time, these visions of destruction  
that so greatly wounded the gentle heart of this child, who  
loved all life and wept to see it so defiled, and he  
cursed this power of his that plagued him even in his  
waking hours. 

"And thus in this sad way did he live, afflicted of the  
heart and mind, in action perpetual, until one  
fine and sunny day in a land by a vast ocean,  
our young prince did meet a maiden fair, a woman with  
hair of gold and eyes as shining as the sea where  
these young lovers often dreamed of building a home  
together, for he loved her so that the fiery anger  
in his heart was quenched by the by the coolness and stillness of her  
soul, and she did love him equally for the sweetness  
of his smile ands spirit. From the hands of Vengeance  
was our prince delivered, into the lap of Love, and  
there he stayed a while, in peace and contentment, and it  
seemed as though he would live and die in this peaceful place,  
forgoing his sword and crown that waited for the touch of his  
hand, and without it, would lay sleeping for eternity,  
lands unconquered and queens unkilled - but stony-eyed Fate would  
not be cheated of her story, and a certain  
paled-eyed sorcerer would not be robbed of his prince. And  
so it was, on the day the lovers had agreed to  
marry one another, for their passion was stronger and  
more consuming than had ever been seen before on the  
mortal Earth, Azazel came again with destruction  
in his heart and ruin in his hands, and in the  
dead of night, the tyrant crept from the darkest shadows  
into the room where the lovers slept, and cast a spell of  
deepest sleep upon our king, so he could not stop the  
ever-moving wheel of Fate.

"On that night of sorrow, twenty years since the passing  
of his mother, his lover was taken in a similar  
manner, her golden hair devoured by fire, and with her  
dying breath, she bade him to flee, for there was evil  
magic that did abound, and she did not wish for his gentle  
smile to be swallowed up in darkness and pain, and so he  
fled, straight into the arms of his brother, who had seen the  
flames and feared that the worst had come to pass. Alas for  
Love, our king did fall to his knees, bewailing her name and  
fortune, cursing the name of the evil that had taken his  
lover from him, and the fury that he thought had died,  
withered away as the summer leaves do turn to autumn, now  
blossomed again in the spring of despair, taking root in his stomach,  
entwining ‘round his limbs and choking him with thorny  
grief. Weep, o king, for the dream that could never come to  
pass, for you have been marked by Fate, and she may not be  
ignored. As smoke ascended to the Heavens, our king  
renewed the valiant oath pledged by his own father years  
before - to eradicate the evil of the world, and  
avenge his beloved, and there in the dark of a night so  
cruel and cold, it was said that the first of the embers of the  
king that was to be began to glow beneath the  
weight of Tragedy's heavy cloak. Yet such a poor  
awakening would not satisfy Azazel, who  
desired that his king should come forth in a blaze of mighty,  
glorious fire, to take his throne with swiftness and without  
mercy, for the time of Dawn was fast approaching,  
and the Stars did wait impatiently at the vault of  
Heaven for their long-sought freedom, and so the wicked  
man soon after took a third life, that of our king's own  
father, who died in sorrow and pain, his wife unavenged, his  
life's work unfulfilled, and leaving his children forlorn to  
wage their war upon evil, now alone in this world, and the  
heart of our king grew harder, hotter, the fires of rage  
within him burning ever stronger, yet still his true self was  
buried deep within his human flesh, and would  
soon be ripped from him by the greatest tragedy yet, the  
death of his brother.

"Even in those days did the enemies of our king  
abound, for Azazel was not the only man who wished to  
make a champion, and so there were many children,  
all with powers of their own, and on occasion, they  
could not see each other for who they were, nor sense the  
joining blood that ran between them, yet there were those who  
saw the power of our king and despised it, lusting  
after it, for they had no real power of their  
own, and desired to steal the light from the sun itself, and  
so there were some who devised a plan, with help from their  
demonic patrons, to lure our prince from the safety of his  
brother, who jealously guarded his flesh and blood with his own  
life, yet even he could not uphold his constant  
vigilance forever. And so it was, one cold and  
dreary night in a city of dirt and death, our king  
alone upon his knees was forced by his fellow man, and  
there the greatest crime of all was carried out, in this  
place forgotten by its people and its gods. It was  
there that our king did fall, so fatally wounded, his noble and  
holy blood to the earth not in friendship given, and it was  
not until the life had gone from his body that he was  
finally found by his brother, who, having seen the body,  
sank to his hands and knees in the rotten ground and screamed,  
cursing the gods of earth and air, decrying their might and their  
power, but no matter how he begged and entreated, no  
answer was given to him but the howling wind, which carried  
his lament across that desolate land, his song of  
grief and deepest heartbreak, and magnified it tenfold  
through that bleak and wild country. 

"But he could not simply leave that precious body, and  
so he took his sword of iron, and round about them  
drew a magic circle unbroken, to protect them  
both from evil, and there the stricken warrior did  
hold his vigil over his virtuous brother’s body  
incorruptible, and did intend to keep his  
watch until the end of time, were it not for the meddling  
of the house of White, for he was approached by one of the  
followers of the queen before too long had passed, a  
woman fair of face with hair as black as night, and she  
marked his state and called to him, saying, ‘Why weep you so  
bitterly, fair knight? For you are young and handsome  
yet - and far from these bitter lands there is much joy to be  
had, such food to eat and wine to drink, yet there you  
kneel in the dirt as though you were a barren tree! O,  
come with me, sir knight, and I will take you over the  
hill there, where rests a neat and tidy inn, and I shall  
give you your wine and your meat, and we shall dance until the  
morning light!’ But he shook his head and answered, ‘Lady,  
I will not, though I thank you for your gracious offers, for  
I am too much in grief to think of such pleasures, those things that  
once I did so enjoy. Alas, those things shall forever be  
lost to me! The food shall not satisfy, and the wine cannot  
cheer me, nor shall your dancing lift my heart, for all these  
earthly pleasures are just that - of the earth, and no longer  
can I extend my hand to the earth with love, for it has  
taken that which my soul holds dearer than itself. O,  
see, see how greedily it drinks the blood of my  
brother! Cruel earth, and crueler sky, for bearing  
witness to his death and refusing to act!

"At his words, some strange expression came upon her,  
and she asked, ‘Why curse you the land that gives you  
life, provides you somewhere to place your feet, that shelters  
you from rain and snow? Why curse you the air, who breathes for  
you and brings good tiding, who caresses your face as a  
lover and sings you to sleep as a mother? No, fair knight, you  
must not curse these things lest they be taken from you so  
swiftly.’ To this, he rose from his brother’s body, and spoke in a  
loud voice, crying, ‘Let them be taken! They shall no longer hold  
sway over me, for my brother, my most dearest friend, was  
all of this and more. No, without him, my feet do  
fall through the earth, and storms do buffet me where they please; no,  
without him, there are no gentle touches, nor gladness,  
nor sweet songs, for the breath has been stolen from my body, and it  
will not be returned.’ His lament was great and mighty,  
fit to make the hardest of hearts from their chests burst forth, yet the  
woman had a smile upon her face, and he was  
outraged by this insult. ‘Do not mock me thus, cold-hearted one!  
Why do you smile? For Death, who has taken my light? For my grief which  
threatens to take me too?’ But the woman said, ‘I do not  
mean to make light of your distress, yet I am shocked how  
such a knight as brave as you does not know of certain  
spells and things to wake the dead!’ At these words, her lovely  
face turned crueler, colder, and holding out her hand to  
him, she said, ‘O sir knight, your tale has moved me to tears, and  
for your pains I shall grant you one single wish, whatever  
it may be.’ 

"So said he, ‘What can you do, witch? Shall my brother’s body, that  
flesh so noble, be torn and twisted, defiled for your  
amusement, the walking dead?’ Yet undeterred she pressed on, and  
said, ‘Of strength I have more than enough within me to raise a  
person from the grave, so I ask you not to insult me,  
though there is a price to be paid, which I shall tell you - but  
first, I ask that you break this circle of steel that you have  
made.’ With no hesitation he drew his iron blade and  
struck the line that kept her at bay, and she stepped across it and  
asked of him, ‘How much are you willing to give for this life, this  
soul?’ And answered he, ‘My own, of course.’ Then spoke she  
in a voice of thunder, ‘This is the price I seek, o  
knight, your soul for his. Do you so freely consent to  
give it?’ So overcome with sorrow, he gave no second  
thought, and swiftly agreed to her demand. ‘Then take I your  
soul," said she, her eyes so red as the blood of fallen  
princes, ‘and in three days time your brother shall rise  
again, and in one year I shall return to collect, so  
look for me at the coming of the dawn, for I am  
never late.’ And with these words the fatal deal was  
struck, unbreakable and undeniable in its  
strength and bond. 

"True to the demon’s word, our prince awoke in three days  
time, and his brother did rejoice in his revival,  
though cut short their celebration was, for the shadow of  
death hung over them as a funeral shroud, so black and  
suffocating. Far too swiftly did that blessed  
year in love and loving pass, and all too soon did the  
dogs of hell with snarling jaws and snapping teeth as  
sharp as daggers come to collect his soul, and so he was  
taken, down into the depths of under Earth, where  
even demons fear to tread: the crypts of the city  
occupied, the vaults of Gehenna, where in waiting  
lay the queen beguiling, who set her torturers  
upon him so that they would break his spirit, would take his  
mind and heart and twist them, drown them in the dark, to  
force him to forget the world above and the love he  
once had known. Yet this man, this human man, he who was  
born of love divine, had the strength of mother, father, and  
brother to sustain him, and would not falter in the  
face of pain eternal, nor would he swear his total  
loyalty to this queen, for in the deepest corners  
of his heart, he knew the face of the truest king, the  
prince with the golden eyes and charming smile, his brother, the  
light in the darkness. Lilith, for all her grace and beauty, was  
merely a candle to the sun, her power a fraction to  
his, her glamor commonplace, for who amongst the  
denizens of Hell could ever strive to reach the  
highest, the fairest of folk, the children of the  
golden dawn?

"For three whole days and nights did our prince mourn the death of  
his beloved brother, weeping piteously  
enough to wake the dead and shatter the earth, until on the  
third day, there came to him a vision of a vast and  
barren land that drowned in mist, that gasped for breath in the  
darkness, forsaken by sun and moon and stars, and upon the  
threadbare grass, between the rotted trees, in the heart of  
this grave land that is called the Passingsmoor by those who  
speak of it in soft and fearful voices, who shirk its  
rocks and waters, there lay an ancient mausoleum, its  
iron door set with hinges of blackened bones, and ringed by  
menhirs far as the eye could see, each one a worthy  
testament to their fallen masters, the only growing  
things in this charnel house. Upon the door was set a  
lock of stone and steel and a fiery star inlaid with  
gold, the very symbol of our king. Though he knew  
not what lay beyond this door in the dominion of death, it was  
there that he turned his thoughts and action, and taking only  
his enchanted knife, he summoned the courage of his  
brother’s spirit - and such courage it had been, to  
proudly give one’s life for a life more beloved than one’s  
mortal body, immortal soul - to guide him through that  
sprawling wasteland, until he reached the door of iron, and  
placed his hand upon its face, whereupon the lock did  
open itself to him, and the doors did fall away to  
reveal the mouth of Hell itself, our wretched home, where  
darkness reigned, awaiting the touch of to awaken  
it, and the shrieks of the disparate echoed round the halls of  
rock and bone.

"But our king was not with fear," exclaimed Masag, "yet with  
hope in his breast, for though the mouth of the Pit did open  
before him, and threatened to swallow him whole, his steps were sure and  
steady, with purpose striding ever forward unto the  
breach, for at the end of his journey lay his lofty  
destiny, the throne of Gehenna, and our long-  
awaited freedom from the tyrannical queen!" At this, the  
crowd together cheered with grand approval, and raising her  
hands to the sky, Masag declared, "And now, here we are, good  
friends, to march on the citadel and take our ancient  
homeland back from the corrupted witches the hold their  
profane courts in the hallowed halls of the ancient houses  
with no rightful claim! Hail to the true king, the lord of  
under earth, the heir to Hell! Death to the White queen, and  
all who choose to serve her!" Then gathering around the  
excellent orator, all those present joined their voices  
in a song of praise, and so they sang:

_Sing to the king a new song  
of victory in war and the peace of the triumphant!  
Those who defy him shall be cut down in droves  
and those who follow him shall be exalted.  
Praise to his name, the demon king  
the prince of Gehenna, the sun under the earth!  
Be with us and grant us thy strength  
so that we might work miracles for thee!_

As they sang, the Knight appeared, the left hand of our  
king, and she parted the demons like water upon the rock, and  
spoke in a loud voice, saying, "Know you, any of  
you, the way to the manor Red? For it is there that our  
king has decreed that we journey next. Are there any among you  
of the house of the Crossroads? No harm shall come to you, save  
if you fail to speak, for our king seeks to reunite the  
houses of Red and Gold once more, as they were in  
ancient times, and this I swear: appointed, have I  
been, the commander of this army, and so you, all of  
you, are under my protection. Let me be clear, I  
call upon the sons and daughters of the house of  
Red to guide us now, for the way is long and dark, and  
we are in great need of your knowledge." At first, there was silence, then  
from the crowd stepped forth a child, and quietly she  
said, "I know the way to that house, for it was there that  
I was born, and from there have I traveled many  
miles to join this march, to see my king with my own  
eyes, to tread this rocky path to revolution."  
Said the knight, "Then come with me, for even as you  
desire to see your king, your king so wishes to see  
you also." And together they departed from the  
crowd, into the darkness walking.


	2. Part the Second

Down, down in the heart of the earth they went, our  
king and his army. Damned and hungry they all were, these  
demons at the heel of their master, a company of  
thieves and murderers, liars, sinners, hellspawn, the dukes of  
hell with their banners. There was Sitri, prince of deceit, and of  
all those who gave themselves over to it, abandoning what was  
known as true by holy men, and there also was  
Marchosias, blood-drinker, flesh-eater, crowned with wolf’s head,  
he whose cruelty was matched only by his craft, and  
there also was Foraii, the wise astronomer who had  
once been a man of holy teachings before he found a  
book of evil magick, and thus did turn from all that was  
light in favor of darkest knowledge, and there also was  
Raum, the crow that fed upon the dirt and lived with  
rats, and like the rat he stole into the house of  
kings and stole away again with all their treasures, and  
there also was Cimeries, who rode upon a  
horse whose flank was black as pitch, the mighty duke who  
was the first to ford the river Styx, against the  
ancient ferryman undeterred, and there also were  
devils by the thousands, with sharpened claws and teeth, with  
inked, blooded, clouded eyes, in forms of monsters and  
men, with spirits that sang for blood and war and victory.  
But of all the blackened hearts assembled, the most fearsome was  
Abaddon, the lady knight. It was said that  
so much blood had been spilled, so much death had been wrought  
by her hands that her hair was stained with it, red as blood, as  
fire, as the pit from whence she came. The Black Knight had  
vowed that she would bend her knee to none  
neither to Azazel, that filthy scapegoat, nor to  
Lilith, cast from the favor of the Morningstar -  
none but the true king, the son of dawn. Beautiful  
she was, and loyal only to her lord, she bore a  
sword of flame, torn from the frozen grasp of a Seraph,  
blood like water flowing, pouring, over his hands, where  
on the ground he had fallen, leaving blossoms of roses  
and of lilies in its wake, crushed underfoot by her  
savage heel, and the armies of the LORD did then fall  
before her might and her fury. Woe to those that try the  
Lady of war, for they shall be swiftly dispatched, like rats,  
like spiders, like animals. 

After some days, the knight approached our king’s encampment at  
dawn, for he was yet still bound in human flesh, and  
needed human rest. She found him in the darkened  
stillness of his bed, upon his back, eyes closed as  
if he slept, yet he called her closer. "My lord," spoke she,  
"Long though our journey has been, though struggle we and toil,  
after many days of waiting, I have received word  
where our objective lies. ‘Tis a source that I trust, dear king, and  
of my spies it is she who has never failed me, and I  
know that her word is truth. She tells me that she has seen your  
brother, the righteous man, has spoken to him, has marked his state;  
he is hale, healthy, and whole; he has lost no strength of  
body nor mind for all the tortures heaped upon him." At this,  
the demon prince arose, face pale as moonlight, eyes dark with  
worry. "Tortures?" spoke he, softly, hands in his lap where he  
sat, "they have tortured my brother?" Abaddon answered, "Yes, sire,  
the armies of the false queen have not with kindness treated their  
prisoner, their hated enemy - they remember  
who he was and what he did to them, and what you were,  
how you both walked the earth, to hunt and to hurt, and they have  
returned tenfold what you have done to them." At this, our king  
moaned, hands in his hair, pulling, beating his breast,  
and he cried, "O, cursed life! Wretched fate!  
Would that I had never been born so that my brother  
could be free of his torment! Lady, there is none so  
undeserving of this than he, who cared for me as a  
child, who washed my hair and guarded my back - my brother!  
My dearest friend, my first disciple, father and  
protector. This I swear, by all who may hear me, and by  
my own blood, Lilith," here he spat, "will not survive  
a mere week when I have found her. Her bones will adorn my  
crown, her blood my wine, and her head my footstool!" His eyes  
golden fire, he drew his knife, the blade called the Edge of  
Night, and cut his palm, dark blood that dripped from his fingers,  
and he spoke, "I swear by the angels I have slain, and the  
gods that tremble before me, and the queen who has incurred  
my wrath, that she shall dearly pay what she is owed me,  
for this, this domain and this power which I possess, upon me forced  
and unwanted: I have taken it, claimed it, made of it mine.  
It is my mantle, my cross, my shame and my glory, and when I am  
dead, if all my efforts have been for naught, then I at least may  
say that I did one good work in this place which you and  
I call our home, and that is the deliverance of my  
blood, my flesh, my soul. Witness this, Abaddon, and  
hold me to my duty." So she swore on the blood of her  
king, and their hunt was renewed. 

With great pace did the armies of our king move forth, the  
victorious march pushing on, and at the front was him, our  
king under Earth, the lord of Hell, that led them on through  
certain darkness and obscurity, as driven by  
love as mother, father, brother before him, and it  
seemed as though his hunger fell away, as if Sleep could  
hold no power over him, surely burned from him as his  
brother was burned, for the two were together even apart, and what  
one did feel the other knew tenfold. So weep, o king,  
weep and hope and continue forward, and pray that your noble  
brother can sense your coming, like an earthquake, a tidal  
wave, the mighty floods of old that dashed against the  
rocks and tore the stone to pieces. Yet as the dogs of our  
king so ran, they were suddenly set upon by the hounds of  
hell, the great beasts of the Lord of the Crossroads, he who  
jealously guarded the desperate souls, the sorrowful hearts of the  
destitute and despondent, and with his dogs did ravage the  
hearts of men, torturing them with janus-faced promises.  
Life and love and wealth were merely games to him and his  
followers, for indeed it was a daughter of the  
house of Red who had stolen the soul of our king’s most cherished  
friend, though she knew full well who he had been, and had  
pursued him like a hunting hound to give him to that  
treacherous queen, though she had dearly paid for her  
indiscretions with her life at the hands of the underworld's own  
vengeful prince. 

But how had this come to be? For in histories long past the  
throne of Hell could only be given to those of that  
golden-eyed family, served ever devotedly by the  
legions of red-eyed children, and Lilith, with her pale,  
glassy blood, could never have taken it by her own  
power, not from the fair folk with eyes of golden fire and  
slender hands that crushed whole armies into smoke - the  
blessed few who held true power in their unyielding  
grasp, before the rosy bloodline did wither away,  
across the garden of gold the creeping frost to every  
corner spreading, choking the blossoms and weeds alike, and  
all under the watchful eye of the traitorous, yellow-eyed  
gardener, the accursed one who had been tasked with the  
keeping of the throne for the sun that was to come in  
glory and triumph, and had given it freely to the  
undeserving wretches of Hell. 

Never had a man been so despised by his own  
blood than had rough-handed Azazel been, who by his own  
mother from the citadel had been so curtly  
thrown, for he had been born not fair of face or heart, but  
misshapen in form and soul, unfit to be called a son of the  
house of Gold, and from that time on his hatred languished  
within his breast, his malice seeping into his blood and  
breath, until with sacrifice most foul he vowed his  
vengeance upon the house that had cast him out, his twisted  
hands so deep, deep in his sister’s blood, the light from her  
once-gold eyes now a dim and pale yellow, and so his  
eyes did also turn then, once shining, now sickly and dull. Ye  
demons, this is your legacy now, your wicked origins  
bared for all the world to see, for your king to judge - do not  
be this man, o friends. Our king so lovely and wise, so  
eager to show us grace, that which we cannot deserve so  
willingly consigned, so quick to exercise his  
mercy, so speedily withheld what we have sown with our  
unjust acts of cruelty and blood, he has come in the  
name of our Maker to bring us forth from the grave where we have  
lain in stagnance and silence, in the darkness that covered our  
eyes, so blinded us to the light of the golden sun, that  
taught us savage acts were the way to glory, that sickly  
yellow was an acceptable substitute for the bright and  
brilliant dawn. The shining path is long and narrow and  
welcomes you with open arms, whereas the path of  
gloom and shadow is crooked, sinuous, tortuous, so  
twisting and twisted with temptations round each corner to  
snatch you up and swallow you whole. He who torments and  
tortures does belong to the forgotten age, that  
time of blood without purpose, war without victory, of  
the despotic and the mad, while those who follow the  
way of our lord has the power of stars within their grasps, the  
bursting supernovas within their hearts.

Thus with Azazel’s vile act was our fate sealed, and so it  
was that the house of Gold did slowly vanish into  
air, as was foretold by the ancient sayings, and all that was  
once so high in power and grace, that stunning, lovely  
tapestry of kings, was rotten and foul in the heart of the  
hands that gave the crown to Lilith. It was then that the  
Crossroads king unwillingly was drawn into deals  
unfavorable to him - a tithe of gold for every  
soul that was taken, and a tribute of red-eyed sons and  
daughters, seven each, that were sent to the citadel of  
Gehenna every year, for such purposes as were deemed  
fit by the White Queen who could not be refused, for  
none now could stand up to the joined might of the Order of  
Priestesses and her patron. The lord of the house of Red, once  
proud and powerful, had been reduced to a begging,  
simpering coward, yet in all his children he still  
possessed a great and powerful force, and it was to that  
end that our king and his knight did seek him now, though  
impeded they were by these beasts of festering flesh and bone, whose  
breaths were poison and whose claws were rusted knives, those  
sad and sorrowful tenors of animals from the world  
above, who having been treated with cruelty and without  
love, upon their deaths their spirits sought a kinder,  
gentler master, who took them in without question or bias, who  
called them his own, as hideous as they were in form and  
cursed service.

"Back!" cried the knight at the front of the procession, flaming  
sword in an arc of light, "get back, you dogs! My lord, let  
me take care of this for you, for creatures such as  
these are weak and vulnerable to any master." But our  
king stepped forth, and with his outstretched hand did bring the  
hounds of hell to heel, for they knew their highest master  
from the moment he came forth, and with a wave of the  
hand, they turned and lay down, docile as any  
pet, their drooling jaws now quiet as they crowded  
round our king and pressed their noses into his hand, seeking  
gentle touches and kind words. "What’s this?" came a voice from the  
shadows, "What kind of creature be you that my dogs do not  
turn to attack, but treat you as their own? Has the king of  
dogs come to claim his mighty golden plate and his crown of  
gnawed and gnarled bone? Shall he also come if I do  
call him? Then, heel, your lordship! Come to my feet for your  
treat!" At these mocking words, the black knight spat, and eyes of  
pitch aflame with fury, she cried, "You insolent worm! We  
know it is you, Lord Crossroads, and in the name of the king, we  
charge you: come and kneel before the heir to Hell, none  
other than the son of Dawn!"

"The son of Dawn? Ha!" From darkness lurched a withered  
man, with bloodied eyes and razed hands, and he laughed so  
cruelly, saying, "Do not lie to me in this manner! The  
house of Gold has perished, rotted away, like fruit  
upon the vine that once was sweet, but now turns sour in the  
mouths of all who still believe, the wretched fools." So  
said the knight, "And count you yourself amongst these fools, then,  
Crowley?" - "I should think not!" exclaimed he, "for I know by  
now in the seat of my bones who holds the power in this  
land, and she does not tolerate any fool, neither clown nor  
buffoon nor any other boneheaded simpleton who would  
dare even call himself a king, and here I see you have  
gathered yourself an army as well as a weapon, Lady  
Black! An you think that I will be fooled by your clumsy grab for the  
crown, then let my beef be cut from my store, and may it be  
shared amongst the ranks of your darling black-eyed drones, my  
dear. We have no queen but Lilith, and we both would  
suffer less for this remembrance." - "I say to you, then," said  
she, "tonight my armies shall feast upon your store, as  
paltry as it may be. But step forward, Lord Red, from shadows, and  
come into the light of the day." 

Yet Crowley did not come forth, but sneering instead, he growled,  
"The son of Dawn, the heir to Hell, the golden family's  
halfling bastard - I care not for these things, these whispered  
rumors, and neither do they care for me. I have no lost  
love for that sniveling traitor, who robbed me and betrayed me with  
foul hands and fouler heart, and Azazel’s pitiful  
puppet shall hold no sway over me, this I swear!" With disdain he  
grinned, tauning, "Our houses ever have been at war, have they  
not, madame, yet here you come extending the hand of  
friendship to me, your enemy eternal? I see your  
game - you seek to bring me to the citadel in  
chains, as a gift to the queen, do you not? For your ranks are low, and  
sore in need of willing bodies to slake your infinite  
thirst!" Honorable and steadfast to the end, the knight would  
not let such an insult live unchallenged, and with a  
voice so full of rage as the sea that throws poor sailors  
to and fro with little care for safety, cried she,  
"Though you mock me thus and insult me, though try you to  
shame me and send me away, I am the rock of ages, the  
cornerstone to victory, and so you will not  
move me. I have not come, Crowley, to take your land from  
you, nor give you to the great usurper, nor  
repay you all the wrongs that you have done to me, so  
many they are, for now I have a greater purpose, to  
fight under the banner of the true king, chosen  
by our Maker, bestowed with the holy gifts of the Morning-  
star himself. This I swear to you, that he is who I  
say, and so I do not charge or challenge you, but  
give you simple truth. O, come, Red Lord, and greet your  
ruler." At such a bold and fearless proclamation, the  
lord of the house of Red reluctantly stepped from the  
darkness to see this marvellous miracle of Fate, the  
reigning champion of Azazel’s perverse little game, that  
fruitless wager born of folly, for who else could  
be the king but this demon-blooded human of  
splendid flesh and remarkable birth.

In light he stood, so haggard and weary, yet wonderful too,  
the hounds of Hell surrounding him, the smallest of which was  
cradled in his gentle arms, our bright and merciful  
king, and as Crowley looked into his eyes and saw the  
rising sun, the breaking dawn, the golden well of the  
days gone by, he was overcome with a certain rapturous  
joy, and spoke he softly, "Never did I think to  
see again a son of the house of Gold, for I had  
thought the tree had withered away so long ago, but it  
seems as though the seed was stronger than I had gambled, and  
never have I been so glad to lose. O tell me,  
king, does our Lady speak the truth? Have you come to take the  
iron throne from marble hands and ivory sight? Have you  
come to wash the stain of your predecessor from the  
grand cloak of history? Have you come to wake all those who  
sleep, who have dreamt of your returning, dreams of smoke and  
fire and blood, the waving of the golden banner, the  
carmine sky of revolution? Tell me it is  
so, and without hesitation I do follow  
thee, for though I suffered under the rule of the lily,  
always have I upheld the rule of the rose within this  
secret heart of mine, with pride and shame both warring  
in my breast. No longer shall I hide the honors that  
rest upon my shield, but walk in your way and follow your  
lighted path with delight in my heart!" And falling to his  
knees, he worshipped his king in the sight of all who had gathered to  
see, and he was without sickly shame or creeping  
fear.

"Crowley," said the knight, "your king does thank you for your  
devotion and your loyalty, and humbly asks that  
we may rest in your house this night, for tomorrow," and here she  
addressed the thousandfold army, "tomorrow we shall come to the  
gates of the citadel Gehenna, and tomorrow  
we shall break them down, and take the city in the  
name of the true king, the child of dawn!" There came a mighty  
cheer, and the lord of the crossroads did welcome them into his  
home, and that night there was feasting and song, for their march was  
finally at an end, and the comforts of the manor  
Red were far preferable to the long and dusty  
road on which they had traveled many days without rest, many  
nights without repose. Though while the sons and daughters of  
Black and Red broke bread with each other for the first time in that  
grand and lofty hall, our king, his knight, and his new  
advisor retired to a private room, where they lay upon  
velvet couches and silk cushions, drinking his finest  
wines and nectars from golden double-handed cups, and  
talking of war and history. "I warn you, Lady,"  
said the Red lord, "against your hasty departure from our  
camp, for the White queen’s dragon guards the city gates with  
all but literal fire, and he commands a legion of  
righteous fools who are all too willing to offer themselves in  
sacrifice for a queen who shall not even look their  
way as they bleed to death in the streets. O, pity the children  
of the lily who fight and die for a ghost, my lord, for  
pale eyes and pale hearts so often lead a paler  
life, bleak and unremarkable."

But Abaddon would not be cowed. "Think you that I fear some  
feeble worm from some monkish family? I, who  
slew the angel of Thursday with his own angelsword, then  
turned his steel upon his garrison and left none  
alive? I, the first of the house of Black, who knew death and  
war before I knew the face of my own maker, the  
Morningstar? I, the hammerstrike of our king, his  
spear and arrow and blade? Your dearth of faith disgraces me,  
Red, for I am the sword of under Earth, the general  
to our king, the indomitable, and I declare that  
Lilith’s pet could not possibly challenge me." At this, the  
great collector gave a mighty laugh, and cried out,  
"Lady of war, your reputation far precedes you, and  
though I neither doubt your warlike prowess nor thirst for  
blood, I only mean to advise our gracious lord of  
all the danger that might lay ahead. When he does not  
pass his time in the shadows of the castle White, where  
mortal souls are taken, my lord, and are done all manner of  
dreadful things - he is an artist, that Alastair, that  
scaly, slimy inquisitor - he brings his art to  
all that he does, be it battle or speechcraft or shitting. Should any  
one of us have the great misfortune to be snapped up  
in his appalling jaws, I assure you, o king of roses, that  
it would be quite difficult to get us out  
again. Reconsider, Abaddon, my dear, another  
week, or even month, so that I may marshal my children  
who across the Earth are scattered, gathering souls like  
flowers, and your army shall increase by one thousand, ten  
thousandfold."

"Fie, you coward," said she, "you would have us cower in the  
darkness while that vile, glass-eyed usurper makes her  
bed upon a borrowed throne! An we wait, that queen will  
only grow stronger, her forces multiplied, her power  
nearly unmatched, save for our king, and she will surely  
devour my sons and daughters as easily as breathing! Your  
plan is as weak as you are, Crowley, for this war shall  
not be won by waiting for the lily to wither and  
rot! My lord," spoke she to our king, "do not trouble  
yourself with the faint and wavering soul of our comrade here, for  
he is spineless as a snake, and simple as the  
dogs with whom he lies!" - "You are blind, Abbadon," he barked, "and  
your infectious, festering lust for war shall doom us  
all! Are you hungering for meat, dear lady? Have the  
thousands of bodies left in your wake not satisfied you  
yet? My, my, if you do desire blood and flesh, then  
perhaps I have enough to slake your infinite thirst! My  
lord, I must ask you to leave, for your general and I have  
many private matters to discuss, and secret  
things to whisper."

"Enough," said our king, and the demons were quieted. Quiet also  
was the young prince, who had a look of great sadness  
upon his lovely face, for though he made his bed with  
satin and silk, and dined on rich meat and hearty drink, his  
heart did dwell within the castle White, where his brother  
lay on stone and iron, with nought but the taste of his own  
blood to sustain him, and with a voice brought down with grief, he  
asked his council, "This dragon of which you speak, what kind of  
creature is he? Be he lost and wandering this  
hopeless land with neither light nor path to guide him  
home? Or be he a villain with a villain’s wretched  
heart, an enemy of morning, this man who hurt my  
brother so? Tell me true, my friends, and tell me now." Then  
spoke the knight, "This brute has never been lost, my lord, this  
craven, sallow-eyed and meager-handed. A son of  
White, eternally loyal to his sister is he, and he  
holds no more love for you than has he for any dissident  
voice in this land. He will have been kind to your brother, my  
lord, and what is more, he will have carried out his  
duty to his queen in its letter and its spirit,  
sparing no torture nor hurt upon your brother’s flesh, for  
he is Pain’s lover and Suffering’s puppet, misery  
itself in physical form, but I swear upon the lives I have  
taken that he cannot defeat me, for I have the favor  
of the morning itself."

"Then heed my words," said our king, "for we shall ride at dawn  
tomorrow for the castle White, and you, my knight, you  
shall be our champion in combat." And Crowley so  
defeated only sighed and spoke, "My king, you have bade me to  
trust in this war-hungry creature, and so I shall, though what I could  
tell of that depraved brute would stop the heart of  
any woman or man who found themselves in the shadow  
of his wings, yet you have chosen to face this giant,  
paltry as we are. I do not question your wisdom,  
lord, only hers, yet as even unto the breach you will go, I  
shall not see you go unarmed, and so I offer  
you this most humble gift." And he brought forth a shield of tough  
copper, tin, and silver and gold, wrought with scenes of  
cities and mountains and fire, and the dawning sun who  
rose above them, smiling victoriously upon its  
bearer. "Take this, majesty, and may you never  
be without it, for there are many who would strike any  
man who leaves his back unguarded." Though this shield was  
truly a masterful work of art, our king did sigh and  
softly speak, "There is but one amongst you who may  
guard my back, and now he suffers under the tender  
mercies of my greatest enemy. Think on this, Crowley,  
and you shall understand my urgency." 

"I hear and obey, my king." And with these words, the small  
council was dismissed, and our king took his rest, as paltry  
as it was, for bone and gold weigh heavy upon the  
head, and the son of man was never meant to tread the  
rusty dirt of under Earth, for its very walls  
resounded with the shrieks of the damned, its air corrosive, its  
water noxious to human tongues. Now our king had certain  
gifts of powerful blood, and as he had traversed this  
accursed land, Hell itself did seem to know her king, her  
jagged paths made smooth, her crooked walls made straight, her  
trees standing taller, her water purer, all to please her  
master and friend, yet his mortal brother was afforded  
no such reprise, for fierce and mighty though he was, the  
mercies of Hell, such as they were, would never be  
bestowed upon an earthly being. And so the prince did  
dream of suffering that night, of pain so deep, so  
profound that he awoke with his brother’s name upon his  
lips and terror in his heart, the phantom shiver and  
thrill of scraping metal along his skin and the bile of  
blood behind his teeth, and he wept for the suffering of  
love, for the needless blood that had been shed in its name, for  
all the broken bones, the split lips, the wounded hearts and  
hands, a perfect willing sacrifice for love’s sake, the  
tragedy of total devotion. How we burn, how we  
pant, how we weep for love, for that small and precious moment of  
joy, that bird that sings so sweetly in the morning and  
breathes its last at evening’s fall.

Yet all too soon the night did slip away, and the stars did  
slowly step down from their seat in the Heavens, leaving  
only shadow in their place, and in that deep and  
stillest darkness, the swords of Hell had encircled round the  
gates of the citadel, yet the sword-master held them fast, for  
rosy-fingered Dawn had not yet touched the sky, but  
lo! Behold! For as our king did look to the dome of the  
world, there was yet one star who had not ceased his lively  
dance - the star of Morning, our heavenly maker, who smiled  
upon his chosen king, who with eyes of golden fire  
burning raised his sword aloft, and his armies who did  
wait to be unleashed upon the gates of steel and  
stone, those daughters of smoke, those sons of obsidian, oh,  
how they did hunger and thirst, their snarling teeth and gnashing  
tongues a symphony of war, did sound the roaring  
trumpets as our king brought down the Edge of Night, and that  
diamond of the day did dawn. Like the ancient floods that  
once had swept across the face of over Earth,  
uprooting mighty trees, destroying proud temples, so too did the  
armies of the king rush over the rocky plains, to the  
gates of the citadel flying, with cries of battle upon their  
lips, and shrieks of joy upon their tongues. The sons and  
daughters of the lily wilted before them, yet there  
appeared before our king and his knights a great, colossal  
beast, with a pointed, leering face, and teeth of gleaming  
steel, with skin of leather and stone, yet with the hands of  
man, and with a gasping, screeching laugh, the beast did  
speak, and he roared, "Who dares to come before me at these  
iron gates? O, travelers, turn back, and you shall  
escape unmolested, yet an you stay to quarrel or fight, your  
bones shall lie in the mud and the stone and the steel for all  
eternity, until your very flesh becomes the  
wall of this great city. Flee and live, or stay and  
suffer the wrath of the queen!"

The Lady of War stood tall and proud, and drawing her sword of  
angel-steel, she called to the monster, "O, dragon of the  
house of White, I have come to challenge you, for I fear neither  
you nor your usurping queen. I am come with the sun, and  
by his favor I am given my strength. In the name of the  
true king, conquered shall you be by my own hand, and your  
precious gates shall fall, as will your master, worm." At  
this, he roared again, and shaking the earth, stepped forward,  
screaming, "Foolish knight! The dawn has set, never to  
rise again! The golden vine has withered away to  
rot and memory, and in its place has grown the  
stately lily, daughter of priests, who speaks with the morning in  
dreams. She has seen your arrival and foretold your doom at  
my own hand, this gift for which I thank my lady most  
kindly!" - "Your lady sits upon a stolen throne and  
sings false prophecy!" cried the knight, who began to shed her  
womanly form, her flesh falling away to bleeding  
muscle and bare bone, her carmine hair so wildly  
thrashing in the stillness of that morning. "Mark my  
words, Alastair, for the night has ended, and the morning  
comes with fire to wash away the darkness that has  
defiled my land for far too long!" Spine snapping,  
twisting arms and cracking fingers, the monster who lurked  
beneath crawled out of that soft flesh, whereupon she leapt forward,  
black-tipped, gliting claws and smile bared for all the world to  
see, the light of the dawn so shining on the pale  
bones of her cracked and radial chest, she howled the great and  
terrible song of war, the hymn born into every  
demon’s blackened heart.

Short their battle was, for though there was none who could match the  
knight in a contest of war, the dragon yet defended  
himself from every blow she laid, and e’en that sword of  
graceful steel could not pierce his toughened hide, nor  
lop his grinning head from accursed shoulders. "Ha!" cried  
he, "your strength of arm is weak before me, for I  
possess a magic not even Heaven herself could break, though her  
many children have tried." - "Do not hide behind your tricks and  
illusions, you fiend!" she shrieked as she sliced the air in twain, yet he  
merely laughed again, his hand outstretched, and proudly  
did declare, "Try as you may, my gentle knight, but as  
long as I possess this ring upon my finger  
here, it shall protect my flesh and bone from all my  
foes," and spreading his wings as if to fly, his mocking  
laughter echoing, the glinting ring upon his  
claw, he cried out proudly, "No man can defeat me  
now, not even you, little king!" Yet even as he  
boasted, a miraculous work was done! For the ring did  
fly off his finger, and soared across the morning sky  
until it landed at the feet of the knight, glinting gold in the  
pale sunlight, and with a quick thrust of angel-steel, the  
miserable dragon was slain. From the army came a tremendous  
cry as Abaddon held the sword aloft, its once-opal  
shimmer now dampened with a heavy pyrope veil, and  
to her lord she delivered that wondrous ring, crying,  
"To your sovereignty I dedicate this shining  
victory! With light and fire I shall strike down my  
foes in your infinite name, my king." Yet even as she  
made to place the ring upon his finger, the prince of  
golden fire merely placed it into his pocket,  
safe and secret.

Then into the city they went, unimpeded, and all who  
saw their glorious train came out to greet them, the conquering  
heroes come to free them of the tyranny dread which had  
settled over Gehenna like the funeral shroud that  
covers the heavy, decaying body before the pyre  
takes them both into its embrace. But there was to be no  
funeral for Gehenna that day, for her master had come to the  
home that awaited him, the solid, staid, unchanging  
place that welcomed him with cheers and joyful shouts. In  
moments the ranks of the thousandfold army had doubled, tripled,  
magnified until it seemed as if all of Hell did  
walk with him, the war-hungry children of shadows, the red-eyed  
brood with quicksilver tongues, and yes, even some of her  
white-eyed issue came forth to declare her loyalty on the  
steps of the temple when the army did arrive. The  
leader of these defectors, a woman fair of face with  
hair and eyes as dark as the star-less night stepped forward to  
greet her king, saying, "Great one! I am she who is called  
after the blood-red stone, the Ruby, and I come to  
you as friend and ally, for I and my sisters were told of your  
coming in dreams so wonderful and terrible to  
behold! 

"I dreamt of this fair city, and all her inhabitants who lay  
sleeping, when suddenly I heard a pealing bell, and  
when I looked to see from where it had sounded, there  
appeared in the sky two great and powerful dragons, one white as  
snow, the other golden as the rising sun.  
Advancing on each other, the giant creatures fought so  
viciously, with tooth and claw and wing and wind,  
until with a furious, deadly lunge, the dragon of gold with  
sun-colored eyes did catch its foe by its soft white throat, now  
dripping red, and shook until the beast was no more, and  
I awoke, sobbing for joy. I could not have known it was  
you until I saw your coming through these streets, and  
looked into your sunrise eyes - o, glory to the  
golden sun! I renounce my alabaster mistress, and  
pledge my heart to the aurelian king, my lord!" And she  
fell upon her knees in ecstasy.

"My daughter restored, we thank you for your loyalty, so  
stalwart," said the knight, "and now we call upon it.  
Tell us, child, where is your former mistress hiding? For she  
owes our king a mighty debt, and he intends to  
collect this very day." - "O mother reunited,"  
said the girl, "she is here, in this very temple, having  
sought the shelter of these halls when word of Alastair’s  
death came from gossiping and truthful lips alike. She is  
strong, my king, but your victory is assured, for dreams cannot  
lie, not to me." At her words a strangeness of calm did  
descend upon our king, who extended his hand to her and  
brought her to her feet, and with a kiss upon her  
cheek, he thanked her for heart so free of trouble. “You  
do me great honor, my lady, and so you shall have a shining  
reward when I am finished here.” Yet smiled she and said, “I  
do not hope for honors nor gifts, but simply the greatest  
gift of all, to live by your side and serve you with all that my  
heart can give. Not a saint am I, but merely a vessel, a  
conduit of the Star’s most lovely gospel, and I am  
glad to bear witness to this day. But I warn you, do not  
go into this place, for it is her domain and so  
bends to her will. There is no telling what may lie in these  
darkened halls; such monstrous dreams and hideous terrors  
that may yet await you, and so I beg, dread king, that you  
do not walk into that infinite darkness alone.” Though  
heeded her warning was, still our king had set his resolve in  
stone, and so, armed with sun’s shield and Night’s sharp shore, he entered the  
temple of the morning.

Inside that holy place there was a corridor,  
dark and winding, a spell she had cast for fear and dread to  
grow in the hearts of all who entered that place with ill  
intents toward her person, and so the magic of this cursed  
place had strength enough to trick even the sharpest of minds, the  
strongest of spirits. Yet as he proceeded, our king was not  
afraid, for he had walked in the valley of the shadow of  
death, and no longer did he fear such evils, and so his  
path was unimpeded, though beset was he by all  
manner of smokey figures, leaping scares and sudden  
shrieks, until he came upon a little girl in a  
long white robe, with cornsilk hair, who wept as though her  
very heart was breaking. “Oh, please,” said the child, “I have lost my  
mother, and I am all alone. Brave prince, I beg, can you  
find her for me?” But a fool he was not, for Ruby had warned him  
of these powerful illusions of which her mistress had been most  
fond, and had bade him not to speak to the shades, but to strike  
swiftly and without mercy, and so he lashed out at the  
child with his blade, who disappeared in a swirl of  
pale mist, and our king continued on. It was not long  
after when he came upon a second figure, a  
woman tall and fair, with that selfsame cornsilk hair, and  
as she turned, our king did see the face of his own  
mother, who held out her arms to him and spoke in a voice as  
soft as sleep. “Oh, my son,” sighed she with a gentle smile, “I  
cannot speak to the depths of my pride. You have taken up my  
sword with honor, and soon you shall avenge both fallen father and  
brother, but first, my prince, I wish to hold you in my  
arms once more, as I did when you were but an infant  
at my breast. My child, I beg, embrace your mother.” But  
though it gave him great sorrow, he slashed at her loving smile, and  
watched with a heavy heart as she dissolved into the  
air, this woman he had barely known.

It was not long until he came again upon a third  
figure, a young lady with the sun in her fair  
cheeks, and that selfsame cornsilk hair, and as she turned, he  
saw that this shade held the face of his long lost sweet, that girl he had  
loved in that land by the sea, and he nearly wept to behold her. With  
words so tender and sweet, she looked to him with eyes so  
bright and spoke in a voice like rushing water. “Oh, my  
love,” laughed she, “I have missed you so! It has been too long since your  
arms were around me, since I felt your lips upon mine,  
since we lay together under Heaven’s great and  
boundless canopy! My sun and stars, I tell you  
now, I bear you no ill will for what befell me, for  
Fate is wicked and cruel, and cares not for the lives of  
simple men. The hour is late; come into my arms, my  
dearest, I beg, and let me kiss away your sorrow and  
pain, as once I did in that lovely place where you swore to  
marry me.” O, cruel witch, to take on such disrespectful  
visages, to use a love so pure for work so  
wicked! But with tears in his eyes and a heart not softer  
than a stone, he thrust his blade into her beautiful  
skin, and she disappeared into shadow, laughing like the  
bubbling brook.

At long last, he came to a wooden door, and with all his fury and  
rage, with a wave of his hand it was broken, struck in two by a  
mighty blow. Inside there was a woman clad in  
robes of white, with cornsilk hair, who held aloft a  
silver chalice, and she smiled at him with all of her  
teeth, and laughed so cruelly. “Greetings, little boy,” spoke  
she with a sneer, “Have you enjoyed this game of ours? My  
spells, my tricks, my illusions? My dear and faithful friend, whom  
your pet black-hearted attack dog has so disgracefully  
dispatched, did teach me many a turn of his love for the blade, the  
sharp and biting ecstasy of pain, but I do  
find that the mind is its own worst wicked whetstone, and I  
believe that your dearest brother would agree.” With fire and  
blood in his veins he growled, “I have dreamt of this moment for  
many months, and now my time has come. You have taken all  
that which is precious to me, and I have come to take it  
back from your wretched hands, and more besides, for your crown is  
borrowed, your throne is stolen, your power is naught but your own  
illusion, and it is time for the veil to be lifted.” 

“I have seen you,” said she, “in this cup of mine. I know your  
heart, little boy, and I have seen your gentleness of  
spirit. You cannot kill me, and nor do you wish to.” - “How blind you  
are,” said he softly, “for it is you who has done away with my  
gentle spirit, you and your filthy comrades. My brother  
killed the yellow-eyed demon with coldness and cruelness of heart, so  
unlike the kind and loving man I had known, and once you had  
taken him by force, I turned to his ways; I hardened my  
skin, my eyes, my heart of stone, until all that was left of  
me was this one dream, this one hope in my heartless  
chest, and now it has come to pass. O, see how well you  
know me now.” And with golden fire in his righteous  
eyes, he thrust her to the wall with his considerable  
power, crushing, squeezing, choking her until she lay  
dead, her skin so pale as the wintry morning  
of her lifeless eyes.

He turned from the body, left it to rot in the dark and chilled  
halls of that cursed spot, and returned to the front of the temple  
by the corridor, now straight and narrow, and when he  
stepped into the light, what wonderful thing awaited  
him! For there he was, the brother that had been taken,  
beaten and bruised, but breathing and weeping with boundless joy, and he  
took our king into his arms and cried, “What a joyous  
sight you are, my darling! I had heard of your coming,  
though I scarcely could believe it. I have missed you, my  
brother, and I thank you.” He cupped his scarred hand  
around his brother’s cheek, and upon his forehead placed a  
gentle kiss, whereupon our king began to weep. “Do not  
cry, dear brother,” said the man, “for I am weak and  
weary, yet I shall heal in time, and you also shall  
be restored, for I see that this journey has been long and  
difficult for you, my dearest friend.” With watery  
smiles our king did find the courage to speak, and with gladness of  
heart, he said, “I have only ever needed you to know  
peace within my breast.” - “And I you. Then so shall we live,” said his  
brother, “for this day and forever.” And then our king did  
give to his brother that magic ring he had taken from the  
dragon, and slipped it onto his finger, and the two did  
embrace as a great cheer went up from the surrounding  
armies, and thus was the throne of Morning returned to the rightful  
bone and blood. 

_FINIS_


	3. Author's Notes

I can't believe I actually wrote this damn thing.

This poem is the culmination of several years of thought and several frantic months of writing. I have been an avid reader of mythology all my life; my mother's family is Greek, and when I was little my grandmother gave me a set of books about Greek mythology, which I promptly devoured as fast as I could, returning to those books nearly yearly because I couldn't get them out of my head. I still seek out books of mythology and read as much as I can given what little time I have, but even though _Beowulf_ is unshakable in its place as my favorite epic poem of all time, there is always a soft spot in my heart for Homer's _Iliad_ and _Odyssey_. (Fagles translation or bust!) 

In high school, I studied Latin because I didn't to take a real foreign language, and that's where I learned about poetry in depth for, really, the first time. Several years later, in college, I was roommates with a very good friend of mine who also watched SPN, and I first pitched the idea of an epic poem about Boy King Sam to them one night when we were exchanging horribly sad headcanons for the express purpose of making each other cry. It seemed totally ludicrous and severely pretentious, but at the same time, practically all of the elements of epic poetry are already there in the show itself - travels across great distances and trips into the Underworld; divine interventions; a story beginning in the middle; Sam and Dean even have their own epithets (the Boy King, the Sword of Heaven, et al) and since by that time, SPN had sort of given up on ever resolving the Boy King plot, I had already developed my own headcanons and histories relating to it that needed to go somewhere, seeing as I wasn't really in the business of writing fanfiction yet. Not only that, at the same time, as part of my studies as an anthropology major, I was also fascinated with the ways that history becomes legend, and then becomes myth after thousands of years, and how the details of real life events become so distorted that they are almost unrecognizable. We see this with stories like the _Iliad_ , _Beowulf_ , and like those in the Arthurian canon; stories that were certainly based off of real people and real events, but lost most of its historical accuracy to the test of time in favor of dramatic satisfaction.

I left this idea alone for four years, until I wrote a short segment out of fun earlier this spring. Then stupid, silly me decided to write out the whole damn thing.

This poem is written in a very loose dactylic hexameter, which is the metric rhythm of Homer's poetry, and with almost none of the poetical devices that I learned about in my Latin classes, even though I meant to put them in. The language is also much simpler than a real ancient poem would be, but I have no patience and couldn't possibly craft it that finely. A lot of the language patterns are drawn from and inspired by these epic poems that I love, but also from Shakespeare, the Bible, HBO's _Rome_ , and the libretti of several oratorio pieces that I am currently studying in graduate school. 

Of the things that I did remember to put in:  
Even though the poem is about him, Sam speaks very little. Abaddon, whose character and personality is about 80% fanon at this point, does most of the talking for him. I put that in to highlight the general lack of his agency in the show, and how he almost never has any say in matters that concern him and his body. This is also emphasized by how the demons refer to him as "our" king, "our" prince, in opposition to Lilith, who is simply "the" queen. The demons, and Hell itself, have already laid claim to him, so he couldn't have broken away from his destiny even if he tried. Crowley's character is also now about 80% fanon; his story, and the concept of the four demon Houses, comes from my own compendium of headcanons and ideas for the history of Hell and the organization of the demon hierarchy based off my own esoteric knowledge of occult mythology and also the lore of SPN's demons. It always struck me as odd that Abaddon was so powerful, even though most of the black-eyed demons we had seen before were mostly disposable grunts, hence, the demon Houses were born. They are largely unimportant to the plot, and mostly there for a grander sense of scale. And I very nearly put Castiel in - there was an episode planned where he showed up to declare allegiance to Sam's cause, but it was cut due to the abrupt slowing down of momentum.

Abaddon's demonic form is based off of the Moon Presence from the game _Bloodborne_. Lilith's demonic form, although it doesn't appear in the poem, is based off of Mergo's wet nurse from the same game. Alistair is an actual, literal dragon who hoards a magical ring, because when I wrote that section we were studying _Der Ring des Nibelungen_ in my operatic literature class. Even though Azazel is the only yellow-eyed demon we've ever seen on SPN, barring Dean's vision from "Yellow Fever," I have a whole, nebulous family tree of ruling class demons, of which Azazel is a member. These demons all had golden eyes, because gold is a more aesthetically pleasing color than that ugly-ass yellow, and in story, Azazel's eyes turned from gold to yellow when he committed a heinous act of sibling murder in exchange for power.

Whenever a demon talks to another demon, it is often with overlapping speech in the same syllabic line, but whenever they talk to Sam, there is almost always prose separating the two speakers. The prose serves to separate Sam and his subjects, the human with demonic powers and the demons who follow him, until the very end, when killing Lilith is the act which turns him into a full-blooded demon, just as it supposedly did in "Lucifer Rising." Dean also adopts this speech pattern at the end as well, when he decides to stay in Hell with Sam.

There are several direct references to Sam as Jesus, because that's my thing, as well as a direct reference to Lilith as Caesar, in accordance with the Biblical account of the scourging of Christ. This poem is a bit of a cross between a historical account and a sermon, as lots of ancient writings were, although they were a lot more subtle about it than I was.

Special enormous thanks to my friends who put up with my shit and beta read this monster, especially [Nicole](http://wordsinhaled.tumblr.com), [Erri](http://apothroflux.tumblr.com), [Zee](http://luciferesque.tumblr.com), and [Kat](http://kavkakat.tumblr.com), and a certain special thanks to my dearest friend Maile, who planted the seed of this damn thing in my head, where it grew and wouldn't let me the fuck go. I hope you're fucking proud of what you've done.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you all for reading this, and an extra thanks if you left a comment or a kudos. I hope your days are long, gentle, and full of wonderful stories.

 _Ite missa est_.


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